The Trouble with Biggs
by PinkLemonadeDays
Summary: Biggs Darklighter is the best and most loyal pal a farming kid on Tatooine could ask for, but nevertheless, he always manages to get Luke into trouble. Stealing the Darklighter family's T-47 is just the beginning of the friends' misadventures one afternoon…


The T-47 airspeeder was one of the finest things Luke Skywalker had ever seen in his fourteen years on Tatooine.

He had models of the craft, sure, but those did no justice to the actual T-47. Luke marveled at the two powerful laser cannons at the front –heavy iron cylinders a couple meters long –and the harpoon cannon at the rear. A proud red stripe came down the nose of the craft, with another going across the radiator fins. Dents and dings hinted at its past, but overall, thanks to it having been covered by a canvas and stowed away in a garage, it was in excellent condition.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Biggs slapped one of the cannons. "And solid as a promise."

Luke frowned at his friend. "I don't think we should have uncovered it…I don't think we should _be_ here…"

Biggs circled the craft, inspecting it for any major damage. "It's _my_ garage."

"It's your _father's_ garage."

"And it's my grandfather's ship…he probably would've given it to me when I turned sixteen anyway." Biggs raised his chin indignantly. "He used to tell me about using this gal in the Clone Wars. Said I would be an even better pilot than him someday."

That seemed like fairly sound logic to Luke, though he could still hear Uncle Owen's words from breakfast that morning: _"That Biggs Darklighter is trouble. You_ know _I don't like you running around with him."_

"Sure would beat shooting womp rats with a T-16, wouldn't it?" Biggs urged.

What did Uncle Owen know anyway? He was nothing but a farmer, and moreover, he didn't _really_ know Biggs. Luke looked up to Biggs. He was a keen pilot and a sharpshooter, he was clever, and he always knew where he wanted to be and how to get there.

"Are you in or not, Skywalker?"

"You bet!"

Biggs let out a triumphant yelp and climbed up to the cockpit. "I'll be pilot first, and you take tailgunner." He tucked his blaster underneath the seat and tossed Luke a headset.

"Right." Luke settled into the rear facing seat and put on the set. "Can you hear me?" he spoke into the piece.

"Loud and clear, Skywalker," Biggs responded cheerfully. He pushed the fuel mixture knob and began to advance the throttle. A few more switch flicks, and a roar filled the garage. Luke felt his teeth rattling in his head, his heart pounding in anticipation.

"Hang tight! Beggar's Canyon, full speed ahead!" Biggs fully opened the throttle and pulled back on the steering yoke.

"Let's blast some womp rats!" Luke hollered, and the pair cheered as the craft shot out of the garage.

The T-47 flew swiftly under Bigg's experienced hands, and Tatooine was nothing but a sandy blur beneath the craft. Luke's excitement was only tampered by his knowing that adventures like this would soon be few and far between. In a year or two, Biggs would be off to the Imperial Academy. Ever since they were little kids, he had spoken frequently of sending in his application to the Academy, and now it was only a year until Biggs turned seventeen. It was, after all, the most commendable way for a skilled pilot to escape this desert rock.

It would be a mistake on the Academy's part to not accept Biggs, especially with his grandfather being a war hero. Luke could imagine Bigg's grandfather sitting where Biggs now set, piloting his airspeeder on war ravaged planets in the outer rim. He might have looked like Biggs too –straight black hair, a rougeish grin, a purposeful gaze under heavy brows. Luke felt weary at the prospect of Biggs leaving, and him being left to spend his days on the moisture farm. Biggs would head Imperial intergalactic explorations and secure victories for the Empire. And Luke? He would grow old before his time like all the other grown-ups toiling under the harsh Tatooine suns.

"Blast it, Luke! You're missing them!" Biggs scolded and Luke snapped his attention to the fuzzy gunner monitor. They had reached the Canyon and Biggs had decreased the craft's speed. Sand swirled everywhere as a swarm of hideous, furry creatures, each nearly two meters long, scurried for cover.

Luke squinted at the monitor, his thumbs resting on the gunner triggers. Biggs screamed at him so loudly that he could've heard him without the headset. "C'mon, Luke, they're getting away!"

He slammed his thumbs against the triggers and the whole craft shook as lasers shot out of the cannons. A half dozen womp rats were blasted into the air as the swarm scattered. Luke could have sworn he heard their squealing. "Yahoo!" Biggs cried. "I think you got a _couple_ with that one!"

Luke felt dizzy with glee. He began furiously hitting the triggers as Biggs steered the craft through the Canyon, looping back again to tackle the swarm. When a rat would sail ahead several yards from the tremendous force of a blast, Biggs would call out, "Bulls-eye!" or "Another down, Skywalker!"

They had nearly cleared out the swarm when a sudden frantic beeping filled the craft. "Blast," Biggs muttered in disbelief, jabbing at buttons and flicking switches on the dashboard.

"Biggs?"

"We're about out of fuel!" There was no trace of panic in his voice, only frustration, even as the craft began to descend.

"Biggs! You didn't check the tank!?" There was plenty of panic to go around in Luke's.

"Shut up! This is going to be fine!" Biggs gripped the steering yoke with both hand, and gave it a mighty yank to the left, dodging a rocky ledge jutting out from the canyon wall.

The low fuel alarm filled the cockpit with its deafening tone, and Luke could almost feel it vibrating in his skull. He slammed into the window, as Biggs swung the craft to the right to avoid another ledge.

"Alright, folks, looks like we'll be performing an emergency landing," Biggs announced, a hint of a tremble in his mock-cheery tone, "Everybody remain calm." His hands clenched around the yoke, his knuckles white.

Luke gripped the sides of his seat and squeezed his eyes shut as the craft took a nosedive. In five seconds, it would be over and he would feel nothing. _Five, four, three, two, one…_

His head hit the roof of the cockpit hard, and he tasted blood in his mouth; he had not realized he had been biting the inside of his cheeks. As the craft skidded nearly a hundred meters along the rocky canyon floor, the boys were bounced around like a couple of dolls. Finally, the craft slowed to a stop and tilted sharply to the left, dropping both boys from their seats. The entire craft groaned and the lights on the dashboard and the fuel alarm clicked off.

Afraid that the craft might somehow explode from the crash landing, the boys ripped the headsets off, and shimmied out the door, Biggs grabbing his blaster. After distancing themselves from the craft, Luke whirled on his friend. "Biggs…I'm glad you're still alive, because I deserve the pleasure of killing you myself!"

He advanced toward him and though Luke was far punier than Biggs, the older boy took a step back. "Easy, Skywalker…we're okay. And it looks like the T-47 will be okay…"

"You _moron_ …putting our lives in danger because you couldn't be bothered to check the fuel tank!" He wildly kicked sand at Biggs.

"Enough, enough!" Biggs held up his hands in surrender. "Look, we'll just walk to the nearest power station and bring back a few gallons of fuel."

Luke folded his arms. "Where _is_ the nearest station?"

"Uh…" Biggs turned in a circle. "It's difficult to say…but if we follow the canyon…west…we should eventually get to Anchorhead."

"Tosche Station? That's several miles away!" Luke cried.

Best friend or not, Luke was only fourteen and Biggs didn't feel like he needed to take so much lip from someone his junior.

"Stay here if you want then, laser brain. It doesn't look like you have a better plan…or a blaster for that matter." For emphasis, Biggs patted his holster. "I'd sure hate to be here alone when the rest of the womp rats come out of hiding." He turned away from Luke, in the direction he hoped was westward, and started the walk.

 _3, 2, 1…_

"Wait up, Biggs, I'm coming!"

* * *

The trek across the canyon was exhausting. It felt like hours since the airspeeder accident, but they seemed to be nowhere near Anchorhead. Nowhere near _anything_ Luke recognized, in fact. Who knew when they would get home? He hadn't even done his chores before he had headed off with Biggs that morning; Uncle Owen was going to kill him.

That is, if hunger didn't kill him first. His stomach growled viciously and Luke croaked out to Biggs who was several feet ahead, "Biggs, I'm starving! And thirsty too!"

Biggs didn't respond, didn't even turn around, and Luke scowled to himself. The heat of the afternoon beat down heavily on him and second only to food and water, Luke wanted to find a shady cave to crawl in and nap. However, if he even stopped to catch his breath, Biggs would holler at him to keep moving. "We're about there, Skywalker, I can feel it," Biggs called back.

"I can _feel_ it," Luke mocked him quietly in a babyish voice. "I can _feel_ a power station miles away, but I can't feel when a fuel tank is almost empty. I am one with the Force."

"What _are_ you going on about?" Biggs didn't turn around and his tone indicated that he was letting Luke knew that he heard his mocking, but didn't especially care.

"Maybe it's okay for you to goof around all day, but if you haven't noticed my uncle isn't the most understanding person in the galaxy, and if you –"

"Shh…" Biggs cut him off suddenly, raising his hand.

Luke actually gasped incredulously. "Are you _seriously_ telling me to shut up right now?"

"Yes! Shh!" Biggs hissed, now closing the space between them. "Listen," he whispered.

Luke cocked his head to pick up whatever it was Biggs was hearing. He heard a slight whistle through the canyon. The grit of sand under his cloth boots. Was there something else? He closed his eyes to focus.

He felt something. It was different than an uneasiness…more direct than a gnawing fear. It was as if something deep inside him was insisting with urgency that something bad was looming, was about to happen. It wasn't the first time Luke had experienced such a foretelling sensation, and by now, he had learned to trust these premonitions. "Biggs," he started quietly.

"Run!" Biggs squawked as a crude spear sailed over the canyon wall and pierced the ground beside them. The boys took off, nearly tripping over each other, as more spears rained down. Luke heard savage bellowing from above and felt his heart leap up into his throat. _Tusken Raiders!_

He didn't know how many…four, five? From the corner of his eye, he saw them sliding down the canyon wall, then coming at the boys with raised spears. They were fearsome creatures, brutal and barbaric, with mouth grilles and eye coverings. Ghastly stories were always circulating across the desert about Sand People slaughtering moisture farmers, Jawas, and the occasional wandering child.

One of Luke's earliest memories was Aunt Beru holding him close at an emergency village gathering while the farmers expressed their fears of the Tusken Raiders. _"The grown-ups are just being especially careful," she whispered into Luke's ear, "Nothing is going to hurt you, little one."_

" _Think of my father's wife,"_ _Uncle Owen said, his mouth a hard line, and Aunt Beru fell silent, though her grip on Luke tightened._

He hadn't forgotten that moment, though he had never been brave enough to ask Uncle Owen about his father's wife's fate. He could imagine well enough. The Tusken Raiders were more monster than man.

The boys sprinted, both too terrified and parched to even scream out for help. The Raiders were rapidly gaining on them, and Luke wished he had died in the crash.

"Keep going, Luke!" Biggs panted as he pulled his blaster from his holster. He shot one haphazard shot and at once the Raiders were upon them. Before he could shoot again, the largest Raider let down a heavy blow to Biggs' wrist with his spear. The blaster flew several yards away and Biggs yelped in pain. Luke dove in to help, forcefully grabbing the same Raider's spear with both hands. He tussled with the Raider over the spear, while Biggs swung punches and ducked from the other three.

The largest Raider howled and with tremendous force, hurled both he and Luke to the ground. In half a second, he was over Luke, pushing the spear down on Luke's throat. Luke felt his hands losing their grip on the spear, and he struggled to get out from under the creature. The Raider inflicted more pressure on his neck, and Luke gasped for air. He heard the same triumphant howling from the other Raiders and he tried to call out to Biggs, but no sound would come from his throat.

Biggs _couldn't_ die –there was too much he still needed to do, so many people in the galaxy who would need him. Luke closed his eyes, gritted his teeth together, and pushed back against the Raider with his last ounce of strength.

Instantaneously, the spear fell out of the Raider's hands and the creature flew onto his back. Luke's eyes snapped open, and he sat up, coughing out sand. Biggs was also on the ground, the Raiders' spears pointed at him. The Raiders, however, were seemingly frozen mid-air, their heads turned toward their fallen companion.

Luke exchanged a startled look with Biggs. Suddenly, several blaster bolts zipped over their heads and between the three standing Raiders. With frightened cries, the Raiders dropped their spears and charged off, leaving behind the slain Raider and the bewildered boys. The boys looked back to see the source of the shots.

Standing yards away was a figure in a long brown cloak. He was a human man, and in his hand was Biggs' blaster.

* * *

Luke stood up hesitantly, unsure if the man was friend or foe. Biggs, more brazen, strode up to the man, stating coolly, "That's _my_ blaster."

The man seemed to search Biggs's face and then eyed him up and down. "Ah, so it is." He placed the blaster in Biggs' outstretched hand. "Very uncivilized, that thing."

Biggs squinted at the man, and Luke hurriedly stepped in, lest Biggs offend the man's brave intercedence. "Thank you, sir. We were goners for sure."

The man nodded. "The Sand People spare no mercy for moisture farmers." He spoke with a clipped accent Luke had never heard before.

"Fortunately for us, you're not a bad shot," Biggs observed curiously, raising an eyebrow at the older man.

The man stared at him for a brief moment before saying, "You must be one of the Darklighter boys."

"I'm Biggs. The oldest."

"Pleasure." The man's gaze shifted to Luke, and he looked at him so intently that Luke wondered if he had a gash on his head or something. "And you are young Skywalker."

"Yes…I'm Luke." He held out his hand, and the man clasped it firmly. Luke wondered how old the man was...it was nearly impossible to tell with adults on Tatooine. He supposed that the man was older than his aunt and uncle. His thinning, unkempt hair and smart beard were mostly white, save for a few reddish strands here and there. He had a wise, knowing look in his tired blue eyes, and Luke wondered if a human man could live for two hundred years.

Luke dropped the man's hand, embarrassed slightly for holding it so long. "I'm sorry, you know our names, but I'm afraid we don't know yours."

"Ben," the man answered. "I've been on Tatooine…years and years now. I know of both your families…they've been here a long time too."

"That's the way it goes," Biggs scoffed. "You plant roots in Tatooine and you never leave." He glanced around. "You live around here or what?"

"My home is just down the canyon," Ben replied. "What are you two doing out here without a craft?"

Now it was Luke's turn to scoff. "We crashed –"

"Emergency landed," Biggs interjected.

"Because," Luke continued, frowning at Biggs, "this genius didn't check the fuel levels on our airspeeder before we set out. It's a couple miles back that way. We're heading to Anchorhead right now."

"It's fuel that you need? I can loan you a couple of canisters to carry back. That should be enough to get you home." He motioned to Biggs' wrist, which had already begun to swell. "You'll want that wrapped too."

Biggs shot a questioning look at Luke, and Luke shrugged helplessly in response, as if to say, _"It's better than walking the rest of the way to Anchorhead."_

"Alright," Biggs relented.

"I wish you didn't have to walk back," Ben said as he turned away and beckoned for the boys to follow. "But my cruiser failed on me some time ago, and I hadn't seen the need to have it fixed. I can accompany you back to your speeder, though."

" _Weird_ ," Biggs mouthed to Luke, behind Ben's back. Luke felt inclined to agree. It was odd that Ben claimed to know Luke's family, but his uncle had failed to even mention him. Surely Uncle Owen wouldn't have been able to resist sharing his thoughts on an old hermit living all alone out by Beggar's Canyon. Uncle Owen had opinions about _everybody_.

"So you know my aunt and uncle?" Luke ventured

"I do. I remember when you were brought to them as an infant."

Luke came to a halt. "You do? Do you know who brought me to them?"

Ben gave Luke a weary look. "It's been a long time. When one gets to be my age…he begins to forget such –" He stopped abruptly and looked past Luke.

Luke turned to see a landspeeder –a familiar landspeeder –coming their way, and he immediately forgot all the questions he had for old Ben. So this was how he was destined to die today…not by airspeeder crash, not strangulation by Tusken Raider, but by the hands of…

"Uncle Owen," Luke gulped as the speeder stopped in front of the trio. Biggs muttered a curse under his breath.

"I don't even know where to _start_ with you, Luke Skywalker," Owen Lars spat as he exited the speeder.

"Sir," Biggs started, "I'm mostly to blame…"

"I don't doubt that. Your father found a T-47 missing from the garage, and we've been searching the desert all afternoon for you two."

Biggs winced. Luke knew Huff Darklighter would normally dismiss the boys' antics with a flippant remark about "kids being kids". This time, however, Biggs wasn't likely to get off so easily, having wrecked such a well-taken-care of airspeeder.

"If I may," Ben said gently, "These younglings have been through a great deal today. When I happened upon then, the Sand People had them cornered. They're fortunate to be alive right now."

Owen scowled at the older man. "I'll thank you to keep your nose out of this, Ben. Get in the speeder, boys. I'm taking you home."

Uncle Owen did _indeed_ know Ben, Luke noted.

The boys dutifully climbed into the landspeeder, and Biggs used the radio transmitter to let his father know what had happened. Huff curtly replied that he would collect the T-47 and see Biggs at home. Owen meanwhile was speaking with…or speaking _at_ Ben. With the rumble of the landspeeder engine, Luke couldn't hear what was being said. He knew though that Uncle Owen was furious. Luke wondered if he was merely taking out his anger with him and Biggs on the old man. Or had Ben done something in the past to upset him so?

Owen returned to the landspeeder red faced. "You stay away from him, Luke, you hear?" He offered no further explanation, and Luke nodded dumbly.

Ben watched, with a solemn expression as the landspeeder took off. He lifted his hand slightly in a gesture of farewell, and Luke didn't dare to wave back.

During the entire trip back to the Darklighter's, Owen ranted about the Tusken Raiders, repeating the warnings and stories Luke and Biggs had heard time and time again. He ranted about aircraft safety, talking to strangers, not packing canteens of water…

And he was still ranting when they reached Biggs' home. "Thanks for the ride, sir," Biggs interrupted, hoping out of the speeder. "I'll walk him to the door!" Luke started to spring up.

"Nice try," Owen remarked wryly, locking the craft.

Biggs offered Luke an empathetic look, and Luke nodded gratefully as the landspeeder sped off toward the Lars' farm.

* * *

Despite Owen's protests that Luke should go to bed without dinner, Beru insisted that Luke had suffered enough that afternoon in Beggar's Canyon.

Luke tried to avoid eye contact with his uncle as he pushed the food into little piles on his plate. Owen's steady glare was making him lose his appetite.

"You can go to your room if you're done," Owen said.

Luke took a last gulp of milk, swiped at his mouth indignantly with the back of his hand, and got up from the table. As he left the room, he could hear his aunt chiding Uncle Owen. "You've got to be easier on him. He's only fourteen, after all…"

It didn't matter what Beru said; Luke would be hearing about this one for a long time. He went to his desk and began tinkering with a model X-Wing to soothe his nerves.

There was a soft rap on the door and Owen poked in his head. "Luke?"

"Yeah?" Luke didn't look up.

His uncle stepped into the room. "Listen, Luke. Luke…put that down a second?"

Luke grudgingly set the model aside and met his uncle's gaze.

Owen shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably before saying anything, and Luke knew that his aunt had put him up to this. "You know I don't reprimand you because I want to spoil your fun."

Luke stared.

"We were entrusted with a great responsibility when we became your guardians." He paused. "As do all parents."

It was a struggle for Luke to resist rolling his eyes. Why did Aunt Beru always force Uncle Owen to apologize to him? These "heart to heart" moments, as infrequent as they were, were more awkward for Luke than just having his uncle mad at him for a month.

"I lay down rules to keep you safe," Owen continued, "You don't understand right now, but you'll be grateful for it someday."

He looked at Luke expectantly, but when the boy said nothing, Owen sighed heavily. "The farm will be yours eventually, Luke. You can be a good farmer too if you just get your head out of the stars. That Biggs Darklighter will get himself into real trouble someday, you'll see. You'll be thankful that you had a steady future laid out for you on Tatooine."

Luke thought he would say anything now to get his uncle out of his room. "I suppose you're right."

Owen mustered a forced smile, and set a small bundle, wrapped in a cloth napkin on the desk. "Get some sleep. We have a long day of work tomorrow." He closed the door, and Luke wondered if Aunt Beru was standing just outside.

He turned his attention to the napkin bundle and discovered a hunk of his aunt's cinnamon fig cake. It only took seconds for him to wolf down the cake and collect the crumbs.

His stomach no longer rumbling and his mind replaying his uncle's words, Luke flopped down onto his bed. He needed to get his head out of the stars? Hadn't Uncle Owen ever dreamt of far-off places? He thought of Biggs' declaration to old Ben: "You plant roots in Tatooine and you never leave."

" _Well, not me! I'm going to see the whole galaxy!"_ Biggs always insisted.

" _Must be nice,"_ thought Luke with a yawn, _"I wish I could join you, Biggs."_

The bed springs seemed to squeak in protest as he shifted in bed to get comfortable. Without warning, a model craft fell from the headboard display, bounced off his forehead and onto to his chest.

"Ow!"

Luke snatched the model angrily, but stopped short of tossing it to the floor.

It was his T-47 airspeeder.

He ran a finger over the harpoon cannon and smiled in spite of himself. "It really _does_ beat shooting womp rats with a T-16," he mused. He laid back on the pillow, and closed his eyes. If Biggs _was_ going to get into real trouble someday, Luke hoped more than anything that he would be there too, serving as tailgunner.

Soon enough, Luke fell into a dreamful sleep, and when Beru came in to collect the napkin and extinguish the lamp, his fingers were still wrapped around the T-47.


End file.
